


Syzygy

by sukotchi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Wolves, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Multi, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pining, Prophetic Dreams, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 16:17:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16178690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sukotchi/pseuds/sukotchi
Summary: The world is out to get Kageyama Tobio: Annoying, competitive juniors are biting at his heels, Hinata won't stop being a jumping ball of sunshine, and Tsukishima is pissing him off even more than usual.On top of all of that, he can't sleep without dreaming about wolves.





	Syzygy

**Author's Note:**

> So. It's kind of hard to believe that I've even posted this. Because I started writing on the 2nd of Oct last year, and then abandoned it. Until I picked it up 4 days ago, and completely rewrote the first chapter. XD
> 
> A million hearts to [Twxnkdean](https://twxnkdean.tumblr.com), [Pimentogirl](https://pimentogirl.tumblr.com), and [Asuracalling](https://ao3.org/users/asuracalling) for reading this for me last year. Lots and lots of hearts + thanks to [MangaComicGirl](https://ao3.org/users/mangacomicgirl) for her general existence, and letting me cry about this (almost since the day I met you, omg), and to [Mumtaz](https://ao3.org/users/mumtaz) for reading through, and beta'ing the first chapter of this.   
> PLUS, EVERYONE FROM THE WRITING DISCORD because I can't even write my own summaries now. Rip.  
> LOVE YOU ALL. SO. MUCH. 
> 
> I kinda love this idea of mine, and I hope you all love it too. Thank you for reading. <3

The scenery around him blurs into shades of dark greens, browns and blues as he whizzes past it all. The sky is ink black, the full moon being the only light that guides him, and something tells him he’s close. It’s time. He doesn’t know for what, but there’s an itch within him that just makes him  _anticipate_.

Something snaps behind him, and he feels his hair stand on end. He’s not alone - someone’s behind him. He doesn’t turn around to try and see who it is. They’re steadily closing in, and in a few seconds, the omega will see them. He’ll be overtaken, probably. Or worse, subdued.

He thinks he knows who it is. But that doesn’t slow him down. It could be  _anyone_. And he’s going to follow the same principle for all. He won’t let anyone catch him, friend or foe.

He forces his legs to work faster, taking off again as he gets a burst of speed. The trees close in on him, branches hanging low enough that they could snag and rip into his skin if he’s not careful, and he manoeuvres around them, hyper aware of someone pursuing him. They’re letting out growls that compel him to slow down and wait, but that’s stupid, wrong, not what he wants, and he purposely allows a branch to hit him. The shock should help keep him calm.

He stumbles, then leaps over a root and continues, and then the cover of the trees is gone, and he’s in front of a lake. The water glimmers under the moonlight, almost a disc of silver as it reflects the light, and against his will, his breath is stolen away and he halts.

The trees at the other side of the lake are tall, looming shadows of greenish black, and the gaps between them are hauntingly inviting.

And he needs to get there. He needs to get past the lake, and disappear into the shadows of the forest on the other side. The moon pulls at his instincts, calling out to the omega, telling him to stop, surrender, let it nurture him. But he can’t do that. Someone’s chasing him, and he  _can’t_  let them catch him. It could be an alpha. Hell, alpha or not, he’s not letting  _anyone_  claim him.

He needs to continue moving, but when he tries to, he realises that there’s nowhere to go. The moon’s pulling at him, the heat simmering under his skin amplifying till it feels like he’ll burn from the inside. He’s unbelievably hot, and the lake looks so inviting. The mere thought of it makes him shudder, knowing how cool it’ll feel.

And he won’t be able to get to the other side without getting into the lake. But if he gets in, who’s to know he’ll be able to get  _out?_  His body and mind are traitorous, they’d probably keep him submerged in the water, making him an incredibly easy prey for his pursuer.

He remains where he is, torn between getting to the other side and staying away from the water, and he’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he forgets the impending problem. He gets distracted for  _one moment_ , and that is all it takes for him to get tackled down to the ground as someone looms over him.

He bucks wildly, trying to throw the other wolf off, but his pursuer doesn’t even budge. He realises uneasily that it’s a beta, and suddenly, he’s more adamant on getting away. A  _beta_  is trying to claim him. With renewed vigour, he snarls, mouth moving to clamp over the beta’s fur, bite him and unsettle him enough to slip away. But the beta growls, and once again, the omega is boneless, slumping against the ground as he’s pinned down effortlessly.

The way he is now, body willing to obey any command; to present himself for whichever wolf looks enticing - it’s dangerous. He needs someone to douse the fire burning within him. He doesn’t  _want,_  he  _needs_. But he most certainly doesn’t need a beta’s claim.

He thrashes about, head turning here and there as he tries to find an opening - to escape, attack, anything. But the moon just shines brighter, the water keeps rippling, and the wolf over him stays still, a rumbling sound coming from deep in his chest. And then, at the other side of the lake…

From the trees and the shadows they cast, emerges another wolf. He’s shrouded in the dark, yet his eyes are piercing, glowing in a way that’s almost terrifying as they block off even the moonlight. He observes the two, before rearing back, body tensed. The omega lies still, and he can do nothing but gape as the wolf leaps across the entire width of the lake.

And then he’s  _there_ , right next to the beta and the omega, and his presence and scent are so heavy that the omega can’t help but react. He trembles, mouth opening as a whine bubbles up in his throat, cutting off abruptly as the beta’s pheromones thicken and he realises what he’s doing. But it’s of no use. The beta’s purring, pleased at the submission, and the omega shudders.

The alpha observes them from where he stands at the edge of the lake, eyes sharply trained on them. The omega stares back, breathing harshly as the beta over him presses him down further into the dirt. The alpha prowls, closer and closer, and then stops next to them, letting out an answering rumble as the omega whines again.

The lake’s completely still, the surface of the water a mirror. The heat under the omega’s skin has also dulled down to a residual ache, and he wonders what mother nature is doing to him.

The alpha fixes the beta with his gaze, not looking away till he eases off of the omega. He then turns again to the omega, who’s able to get a proper look at him for the first time. He’s surprisingly small, and had his pheromones been weaker, he could definitely have passed off as a beta or an omega. But there’s no doubt about it; he’s definitely an alpha, the most dominant out of the three. There’s just… something… swirling about him that reminds the omega of a storm. Barely restrained, calm at the surface but deadly when unleashed. It excites him.

The alpha moves even closer, taking the place that the beta formerly occupied as he hovers over the omega, and the wolf on the ground pants, throat suddenly parched and head swimming with the need to take in oxygen. The alpha noses at his neck, before his tongue flicks out and drags against the skin. It’s rough, wet and deliciously contrasting against the omega’s burning skin. Instead of shying away, he presses closer, back arching off the tiniest bit as he offers up his neck to the alpha, the need to bare his scent glands coursing through him. He wants to submit, that’s all he needs right now, and he wonders how this particular wolf is able to calm him down when nothing else can.

He doesn’t see it, but he can feel the beta coming closer, and he doesn’t protest this time. He allows him to take the other side of his neck, but then he thrashes, because it lights the fire within him  _again_ , and douses him with ice-cold water at the same time. There’s a growl, and it makes him  _submit_ , relaxing against them as he pants, and the bigger wolf presses even closer.

He lets his eyes slip shut, revelling in how good they’re making him feel, when two jaws suddenly clamp around both sides of his neck. His eyes fly open, unblinkingly trained on the moon, an unearthly blue taking over his irises, almost glowing. It’s hard to  _breathe_ , the air stuck in his throat even as his pants quiet down to something manageable. He knows what’s about to happen, there’s only one thing that this can lead to. The thought twists him up inside, makes him want to do something. Something to himself, to the alpha and beta. It makes him want to have them do something to him.

He waits.

And then there’s pain. The fire licks at him, so much that it’s unbearable, and the moon is too bright, almost blinding. He’s unable to even shut his eyes, and there’s  _so much pain_ , and somebody howls, and-

Tobio’s eyes snap open as he’s ripped away from the dream. He’s trembling, hands soaked with sweat and colder than ice. His heart’s in his mouth, throat too tight and he can’t breathe, can’t hear anything past the rushing in his ears. It grows louder, closer; reaching a crescendo. And then it all stops.

He sits up, aware of the covers bunched around his feet, and takes in a deep breath. The window’s still open, and sometime during the night, a chill had crept into the room, settling in every corner. The usually pleasant breeze now just makes him shiver uneasily, and for a few minutes, that’s exactly what he does. It’s like someone poured a bucket of cold water all over him, and he’s  _still_ sweating terribly. Clammy fingers twisting the covers, he stares at the wall opposite to him. His eyes rove over the plaster peeling off at the bottom right corner of his room, the single poster Yachi had made after they’d won the prefectural tournament last year, and the medal from said tournament hanging on a nail. It gleams a dull gold, illuminated by the faint light outside, and Kageyama follows the ribbon up to the nail, over it, and back to the medallion.

He’s unable to see the rest of his room, darkness clinging to every surface. In the pitch darkness, he feels too small, vulnerable, with one of his feet almost off the edge of the bed. Everything around him is gigantic, the pressure from the unknown so heavy that it almost feels corporeal; like hands around his neck, suffocating him.

Then the wind hits the halfway drawn curtain, ruffling it, and the material catches against the corner of the window. It’s completely open now, letting the moonlight shine directly into the room. It dances across his floor, dull blue-grey patterns that light up the rest of his room as well. It’s calming, like his mother’s presence when he’s unwell, and he revels in the comfort it brings.

Outside, a dog barks, the lone sound disappearing into the night.

He turns to the table beside his bed, picking up the alarm clock. The dial is dark, but he can still make out the digits. It’s just a minute past three o'clock. He still has two hours before he needs to get up; he should sleep again so he has enough energy to run. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to sleep, though, because of the dream, and how he felt after waking up from it. He feels disoriented, and for the first time in ages contemplates shifting his alarm to fifteen minutes after five o'clock. That much wouldn’t hurt, right?

He shakes his head, scolding himself for being greedy. He doesn’t need sleep, he needs to train. Sleeping can come afterwards. He can always have an early night. Maybe then he wouldn’t be plagued by weird dreams.

The dream, though… when he tries to remember it, he can’t. He has bits and pieces, but he can’t string them together to make any sense. It’s as if the one detail he’s missing is the most important one. And- and… what was it about? Wolves?  _Actual_  wolves? He doesn’t remember watching a commentary on those in the recent past, and they’ve not had the mandatory yearly workshop on the Dynamics yet. It’s always in November, and there’s still half a year left.

He knows he dreamt of a would-be claiming. He’s not that innocent, despite his cluelessness at all the things Tanaka-san and Noya-san suggest. His dream was direct and obvious, he’s sure even someone like Hinata wouldn’t miss the hint. But he doesn’t think wolf claimings have anything to do with human claimings, even after they evolved to have similar characteristics to the canids.

Really, there’s no reason for him to have had the dream, other than a stressed and overactive imagination.

He huffs, annoyed at himself for having stupid dreams again, and lays the clock back down on his bedside table. He’s stopped sweating buckets now, his hands no longer so clammy now that he’s wiped them against his covers. His temperature having returned to normal, he lays back down on the bed, leaving the covers around his waist and thighs.

He closes his eyes, but the light from the moon is still present under his eyelids, so he opens them again, and finds himself staring at the moon. There’s something about it that doesn’t let him look away, and there’s a prickling under his skin, making him scratch at his arm. There’s a sound that he can  _almost_ , but not quite hear, like a distant, long lost song in an ocean.

He continues staring at the moon, and he doesn’t know when he drifts off to sleep.

-x-

The next time he opens his eyes, his alarm is blaring and it’s five o'clock. The sun is already up, but he wishes that  _he_  wasn’t. He gets out of bed, mindful not to make too much noise as he walks over to his window and stares out at the sun. That’s a stupid thing to do, he realises, when the bright rays hit his eyes. He shields them with a hand, using the other to grip the window frame, stumbling slightly. Turning away, he decides to get ready, and with the day’s schedule in mind, he opens the door, and then shuts it behind him as quietly as he can.

In the bathroom, he takes care to brush his teeth properly, before splashing water on his face. He squints at his reflection, wondering why he looks like a zombie. His cheeks are paler than usual, and his eyes, red and puffy. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried, and he definitely can’t explain why it looks like he just did. Even though he was completely fine before he went to bed yesterday. He runs his hand over his eye, intending to flick away the stray water droplets clinging to his eyelashes, but pain shoots through his skull, and he winces. He spits out again, rinsing his mouth as the taste of too much toothpaste persists, before washing his face once more. Turning to pick up the towel, he shoves his face into the fluffy cloth, and sighs contently at the contrasting softness it provides.

Putting away the towel, he moves away from the sink, looking at his reflection one last time out of habit. He then blinks, leaning forward to take a closer look. He frowns, not seeing what he expected, or maybe because he didn’t expect to see what he thinks he  _did_. For a minute, he’d thought his eyes had been too bright, but when he blinked, they just looked like they always did. And the weirdest thing is, he looked  _normal_ , like he’s always has those eyes. Well, of course he has, but not that particular shade of blue. Maybe his mind is still playing tricks on him, making him imagine things.

Deciding to ignore that for now, he takes a shower, then dries himself, grumbling all the while at how rough the towel is in comparison to the one he used to wipe his face. It drags against his skin, and in a moment of annoyance, he wipes at his arm too hard, immediately regretting his action as the skin turns red. There’s tiny red lines there, and he lifts his arm up to his eyes, wondering if the towel really did hurt him. Then he remembers how he vigorously scratched himself about two hours ago, and sighs. Of course, it’s all due to his clumsiness.

He gets out of the bathroom, padding back to his room. He dresses quickly, choosing to wear a bigger shirt than usual. It’s probably his father’s; he needs to thank him. He doesn’t want anything too close to his skin, and he can’t really jog in a community park while putting his naked body on display to the world. That’d be public indecency.

After he’s dressed and combed his hair, he makes his way down to the kitchen. Looking into the fridge, he takes out the biggest carton of milk, and pours some into a glass. Gulping the liquid down, he licks his lips, relishing the taste. He’d drink the entire carton if he didn’t have to face the repercussions of running on a full stomach, and an angry mother.

When he’s finished off his glass, he stores the carton back in the fridge, then rinses the glass with water and sets it down on the counter. Everything back to normal, he leaves the kitchen. It’s time to go run.

It’s only when he’s outside his house does he remember that his phone is still in his room. He debates whether he should go back inside to get it, but decides against it. It’ll only waste more time, and he anyway has a good sense of timing. Even if he can’t  _see_  the time, he will definitely know when he needs to stop and get back home. At least he remembered to pick up a water bottle, that’s good enough.

Before starting down the road, he looks up at the window to his room. The curtains obstruct his view.

Things don’t go according to plan.

-x-

After ten laps around the park, he stops next to a bench. The night’s cool air has condensed to form droplets of water on the bench, and he doesn’t want them to cling to his butt, thank you very much. But he’s  _tired_ , and against his better judgement, sits down. It’s the wrong thing to do, he realises as the cold water seeps into the fabric of his shorts. He gets up, huffing.

The park is mostly empty, considering it’s not even a quarter to six, if he’s correct. It takes him around twenty minutes to do ten laps, and he usually starts leaves his house a little before half past five. There are more birds than usual, and he looks up at the sky, watching them fly past. They remind him of Hinata, soaring high. A bird flutters down to land on a brick nearby, and he watches it flit about and hop around. He continues watching it, till it flies off, and then he takes a sip of water from his bottle.

The water is blessedly cold as it goes down his throat, and in his eagerness, he takes two large gulps too quickly. Coughing, he thumps himself on the chest to get it down, and swallows. He shouldn’t even have drunk that much. He still has thirty more laps to go.

The perimeter of the park is fairly large, so that in itself will take him another hour, and he wants to finish them as quickly as he can, and go home. If possible, he wants to take a ten minute nap. He could ideally go to school and practice - certain teammates must be in the gym already, like the energetic ace - but Tobio just wants to rest.

His break over, he resumes running, mentally counting down the laps as he finishes them. When he’s completed all forty of his laps, he cheers, wondering why there are so many people around now. Oh well, it’s not like he has to deal with them now. He sits on the bench for a few minutes, remembering to wipe off the drops of water, and regulates his breathing, before getting up and starting the walk back to his house.

He reaches home, and is surprised to find his mother already awake and working, laptop out on the coffee table while she drinks something out of a cup. He can hear his father working away in the kitchen, cooking breakfast.

“You’re up early.” he comments, clearing his throat afterwards.

He receives a smile in return. “Tobio-kun, did you wake up late? We’re following our usual routine, honey. You’re the one who’s back late from your jogging.”

Confused, he tilts his head. “What time is it?”

His mother reads it off of her screen, and when he nods, she goes back to her work, getting absorbed in it and forgetting his presence. Tobio doesn’t mind. Rather, he’s grateful that she’s not paying attention, because if she was, she’d know how he’s feeling right now. Shocked.

Because somehow, the activity that takes him just an hour and ten minutes to complete, has crossed over one and a half hours. He was supposed to be back home at ten minutes to seven, but it’s already twenty minutes over that. Heck, at this rate he’s going to be late to school.

Somehow, he’s taken way more time than usual to complete his forty laps, and whether it’s because he loitered too much, or couldn’t run fast enough, the fact still remains: he was  _slow_.

Now that he’s finally realised his predicament, he suddenly feels sluggish. Remembering school just makes him more tired, the dull feeling settling into his bones and making him feel heavy. He doesn’t want to go. But he also doesn’t want to miss practice. He could skip out the first class; get to school late, but he doesn’t think Ennoshita-san will let him live if he does that.

His father asks if he wants an omelette, and he refuses. He only needs milk, but his father laughs and tells him he can’t survive only on calcium.

“It’s made up of water, lactose, casein, and many other things.” he replies.

His mother laughs at her mate’s shocked expression, and when he’s sure they’re occupied with each other, Tobio slinks out of the room.

In his room, he takes off his clothes, ready to slip into his uniform before realising he’s too sweaty to go to school without another shower. Sighing, he redresses, picking up his uniform and a new set of undergarments, and scampers off to the bathroom.

Under the spray of the shower, he closes his eyes blissfully, allowing the water to cascade over him. When the hot water runs out and he starts shivering, he opens them again. Making sure he’s completely clean, he gets out, and goes to the stack of towels in the cupboard. He feels all of them up, testing their softness, mentally apologising to his father, and picks out the softest one.

He wraps it around himself, almost crying at how nice it feels, like feathers gliding over him. Shivering again, he pats himself down, before dressing quickly. He’s probably wasted another ten minutes, and he’s  _definitely_  going to be late now.

He gets out of the bathroom, and in his hurry, forgets to wipe the mist off the mirror. Had he done so, he’d have locked eyes with his reflection, and seen the ring of glowing blue in his eyes; slowly receding.

He runs the comb through his hair again, just in case it’s stuck up weirdly, and makes sure it’s dry enough that he won’t end up catching a cold in school.

He walks downstairs, going into the kitchen, and his stomach churns when his father offers an omelette again, which he refuses weakly. Maybe his father knows something is up, because he cheerfully hands Tobio the carton of milk and lets him be.

He drinks the liquid like a dying man, gulping it down, wishing he could have  _more more more_ , and when his glass is empty, he sets it down on the table, lips downturned. Despite his offer to wash it, his father takes it from him, so Tobio just accepts the kiss to his cheek and walks out.

His mother is still working, papers spread out next to her laptop now, and she looks up when he informs her he’s leaving. She gets up from the couch, and walks to his side. For a moment, she just stares at him calculatingly, and he wants to hide because it’s like she knows the reason for why he’s so jumpy, but then she just raises a hand and pats his head gently.

“Be careful, have fun. I love you.” Kageyama nods, mumbling a  _‘love you too.’_

-x-

He’s late to his first class, but surprisingly the teacher lets him in. But even after ten minutes of sitting and staring at the blackboard, he can’t understand a word. Heck, he can’t even hear anything. There’s a dull roaring in his ears, unintelligible sounds clanking around like marbles in a glass jar. His head keeps lolling forward slightly, eyes at half mast as he tries to fight back the sleepiness. At one point, he even gives in, but the moment he closes his eyes, pain shoots up his head, bright flashes of colour swimming about, and he ends up opening his eyes before he gets too dizzy.

A few seats away, Hinata is slumped over his desk, snoring blissfully, without a care in the world. He wistfully observes the scene, wishing he could sleep too. But then the teacher calls out the other boy’s name, before rapping her scale against the table loudly, and Hinata’s ripped out of his peaceful slumber. He jumps up, sheepishly laughing and admitting that he fell asleep because he was too tired from practicing in the morning. And because it’s  _Hinata_ , the teacher doesn’t even get angry.

The fact that Hinata was practicing without him makes Tobio uneasy. If he’s not careful, all his teammates will end up far better than him, and he’ll be left in the dust. If Hinata co-ordinates with another setter, then they might not even need Tobio as the official setter. He shakes his head, stopping his negative train of thought. It’s simple: if his position is threatened, then he’s just going to have to do better than everyone else.

He somehow makes it through the day, cheering weakly when the final bell rings. School is over, it’s time for practice now, and surely he’s going to have a good time.

But things just don’t seem to go his way. The air in the gym is too stifling, the smell of sweat and something else heavy in the air that makes him nauseous, and when he tosses the ball to the wrong spot for the sixth time, cursing, Ennoshita-san asks him if he wants to sit out. He refuses, saying he’s okay, because  _what else is he supposed to say, when so many eyes are trained on him?_  The captain continues to stare at him, eyes narrowed, before saying, “Sure, but if you feel that you need to take a break, do so.”

If he remembers correctly, the captain is an omega; Tobio wonders how he’s so dominating. His father’s pretty much the opposite of it. Not that he’s a coward, but he looks to his alpha mate for directions more often than he makes his own decisions. It could just be his personality, maybe. Tobio’s not judging.

Practice continues, and the issue tentatively settles down, but another one pops up. Tsukishima had been relatively quiet, his sarcastic jabs absent, and they all come out now. Tobio grits his teeth when the middle blocker starts talking, praying to god that he  _shuts up_ , and lets the setter live. He’s not in the mood to deal with him right now, and it’s almost as if the middle blocker knows that. Heck, that’s definitely it.

Tobio does a pretty good job of ignoring him; he’s almost drowned his voice out over the roaring in his ears, when Tsukishima drops the question, “Did the king not get his beauty sleep?”

All of a sudden, the image of a wolf looms in Tobio’s eyes, brown eyes locked into his so intensely, they almost seem golden. He sways, slams his foot down on the court in order to center himself, and catches the tail end of Tsukishima’s sentence, “- beautiful, anyway.”

 _Beautiful?_  Is Tsukishima calling him beautiful? What’s wrong with the middle blocker? Or is he calling him  _ugly_ , trying to pick a fight? Tobio looks at him, and he could have sworn the blond glared at him, before his lips curl up into a smirk, head tilting back, as if daring him to retaliate.

And Tobio  _does_. Before he knows it, he’s halfway across the room, the ball he was about to set gripped between his arm and waist. He fists his free hand in Tsukishima’s collar, yanking it and opening his mouth to tell him to shut up, shove his words back up  _somewhere_ , away from the setter, -

He freezes as Tanaka-san yells out his name, and the ball falls to the floor, bouncing once, twice. It rolls to a stop near the ace’s feet, the only sound in the quiet gym. He picks it up, bouncing it into the air and catching it, before he makes his way to Tobio and Tsukishima.

“Tsukishima,” he growls out, “the 'king’ jokes are honestly getting out of hand. I feel like you use them now only because Kageyama sometimes gets pissed.” Tobio wants to say something, disagree, because  _no_ , that’s not what set him off today, but he can’t. And he shouldn’t. He lets Tanaka-san continue. “Don’t be an ass, Tsukishima. Mistakes happen, and we all know Kageyama isn’t going to go back to how he was in junior high. He’s a wonderful player, part of our team, and you can’t keep bullying him about what happened in the past.”

The ace turns to him then, “And you. I thought you didn’t care what people said about you, Kageyama?” The setter doesn’t reply. “The way you reacted, one would think you care about what Tsukishima says about you.” He flushes. “And hey, I think we all can agree that you’re not ugly. You need to work on your smile, but that’s about it. Oh, and your social skills.”

He doesn’t know what this has to do with anything, because he hadn’t paid attention to what Tsukishima had even said in the first place. But Tobio can’t protest, because if this isn’t why he got upset, then what reason can he give?

Tanaka-san claps them both on the shoulder, before he drags Tobio off to where he sets from, and the setter doesn’t know how to express himself. “Kageyama, you know how Tsukishima is, but if you have a problem with something he says,  _talk to someone_ , instead of resorting to yelling and fighting. You both are admirable players, and important to each other on the court.” Are they? “Come on, let’s continue, everyone!” Noya-san lets out a whoop, and they resume practice.

Tobio does a bit better than before.

Once they’re finished and cleaning up, Tsukishima makes a few more comments, laughing at him for 'taking orders’ from the ace. Tobio just gives him a blank look, because he doesn’t want to give the middle blocker the satisfaction of getting under his skin. And he also doesn’t want to let down Tanaka-san, but no one needs to know that.

Ultimately, Yamaguchi gets tired of his friend’s jabs, and speaks up from where he’s putting away the net, “Tsukki, let’s hurry up and finish this. The sooner we do that, the sooner we leave.” Tsukishima regards him, before shrugging and getting back to cleaning. Yamaguchi’s probably the only one who can talk sense into him, apart from Yachi, but she’s already left.

Tobio narrows his eyes, staring at the middle blocker’s back as he bends down to pick up a stray ball. He’s glad that Tsukishima stopped bothering him, but somehow, knowing that someone had to intervene again annoys him. He feels defeated; he couldn’t get Tsukishima to shut up, but Yamaguchi  _did_. What does that say about his mental strength? Of course, that’s just stupid, but does his mind listen? No. And the rest of his time in the gym is spent doubting himself and feeling useless.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this was enjoyable, ahaha. ˆˆ' Thank you for reading!!  
> Updates will be sloooow, because I'm lazy and/or busy. You can find me [@Sukotchi](https://sukotchi.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
